No Borders: I'm at a loss for words

February 21, 2011|By Bonnie Miller Rubin, Tribune reporter

While not unexpected, the news that Borders would be closing 15 stores in the Chicago area filled me with a profound sense of loss.

Actually, I was mourning the demise of just one, in Matteson (pronounced Matt-a-son), a nondescript southern suburb unknown to most North Siders, or, at the very least, confused with the capital of Wisconsin.

I understand all the economic reasons for the decision: that the digital age has trounced bricks-and-mortar stores, that e-readers have chipped away at ink on paper, that management may have made miscues.

But, to me, this is more personal than a routine business story. I live in a nearby town, Flossmoor, and about a decade ago, I was one of thousands who signed a petition imploring the bookseller to locate in our decidedly unhip area. A bookstore chain may be a common fixture elsewhere, but in racially diverse Matteson, far off the map of trend-meisters, it was a big deal.

Until adulthood, I wasn't aware of this commercial caste system. I spent the first half of my life in Northbrook (although in the 1960s, living west of the Edens was hardly upscale). Still, I was well-insulated from the realities of retail red-lining, believing that anything was readily available, or at least no farther away than Old Orchard.

Two decades later, I learned differently.

When I moved to Flossmoor in the 1980s, names that are fixtures elsewhere in the metro area — Crate & Barrel, Lettuce Entertain You, Whole Foods — required a 40-minute ride due north or west.

At the supermarket, it's no better. Patrons of all colors and ethnicities lament inferior produce and the mayonnaise-laden offerings at the deli counter. While beet-and-goat-cheese salads have already been dismissed by foodies as a cliche, they were never in vogue south of Roosevelt Road.

Even Starbucks, so ubiquitous that the Onion once spoofed, "Starbucks opens new store in bathroom of existing Starbucks," required an all-out campaign. "You know," said one soft-spoken resident at a public meeting, "black people drink coffee too."

In 2001, the arrival of $4 lattes represented such a victory that politicians were on hand to roll out the welcome mat. Two years later, when Borders opened its doors, Rep. Jesse Jackson Jr. spoke at a Green Power Day to spark economic development and brought along still-obscure state legislator Barack Obama.

"We have always had to fight tooth and nail for investment from the private sector," said Andrew Wilson, a spokesman for Jackson, after the Borders announcement last week. "And when the broader economy is struggling, we have to fight that much harder."

I'm not complaining. I love my community and the fact that it more accurately reflects the diversity of the world we live in. I also know that the indignities heaped on us pale in comparison to many parts of the South and West sides, with their retail repertoire of fast food, liquor stores, currency exchanges and nail salons.

With Borders closing half of its area locations, we're hardly alone. But after such an intense courtship, complete with tax breaks, the bookseller's presence pumped us up with a civic pride you probably won't find elsewhere.

On a more wistful note, this is where I introduced my kids to "Harry Potter." It's where I scoured the shelves for the latest "Gossip Girl" or "Clique" titles to send to camp. (Not great literature, I know, but hey, they're reading).

It's where I picked up baby, birthday, sweet 16 and sympathy cards, a veritable life cycle, all at my fingertips. And where, after we became empty nesters, we often ended up after dinner, for a beverage and brownie while lingering over the latest magazines.

Many times it would have been easier and cheaper to log on to Amazon. But when the company believed in our neighborhood, it earned my lifelong loyalty. I just didn't know that the life was going to be so short.

On Saturday, the cafe was already dark. The garish signs screaming "store closing" were plastered to the windows and the "40 percent off" crowd had descended, with a line stretching from the front door to the back. I couldn't help but wonder: If even one-tenth of these customers had been regulars, might this location have been spared?

Now, after such a hard-fought battle, we're back to where we began almost a decade ago. Borders will soon be boarded up, joining the other big-box shells — Builders Square, Circuit City, Linens 'N Things — along Lincoln Highway. We can always drive the 15 miles to Orland Park, where another Borders is across the street from a Barnes & Noble and down the block from a Half-Price Books. But it just won't be the same.